Nate caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Maybe the book is a guise. Maybe it’s actually a social experiment designed to test you guys and see if you turn on one another, divulging secrets and retaliating.”
“You go dark when you drink.”
“I’m not drinking, nerd.”
“Dork.”
Fifi held her hand up. “I bet you can decide the content of your mom’s book by working with your family outside her knowledge. You can get a group consensus on which stories to tell and which are off-limits. When she interviews you individually, she’ll get the same info from everyone. Ultimately, you’ll have determined what was published.”
I collapsed against the soft leather seat. “You’re an evil genius.”
“Thanks.” She gave Nate a high-five.
He hooked an elbow over his armrest and glanced my way. “You should talk about the time you and I solved a crime the FBI couldn’t handle.”
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Jake would love it if I exposed that story.”
“Then tell her about how we met the Archers. No, tell her about the time we rolled down our street, right past Dan on stakeout.” He roared in laughter. “That was awesome. I was stalking him. He was stalking me. He had no idea I was there all the time.”
I jerked upright. “Nate! You’re bloody brilliant.”
“And you’re British?”
I pushed his head. “I know how the killer got into Horseshoe Falls. He doesn’t live in my community. He rode there in Dante’s car. Hidden in the backseat, just like you hiding from Dan last year.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through Contacts. “After the deed was done, he jogged right out the front gate. Bernie texted me a list of joggers.” I found Jake’s face and made the call. “Jake’s going to flip out. They probably weren’t even processing the backseat for evidence. I just opened up a whole new land of potential clues.”
“It’s just a backseat,” Nate deadpanned. “Maybe five square feet. Hardly a whole new land.”
“Shut up. I win.”
Chapter Thirteen
I stepped out of my morning shower with purpose. I’d gotten Jake’s voice mail last night, but I left a message, so that was done. I drank a pot of coffee and obsessed over what I knew and what I needed to find out. The next mouse I found was going in a shoebox until I discovered its origins. A quick internet search revealed that mice like the ones I’d found were often bred for shops to sell as pets or as food for predatory pets like snakes. They were shipped in bulk, warehoused and distributed in mass quantities. I’d never given much thought to how mice were produced before. Part of me had assumed it worked, at least loosely, like cats or dogs. Not even close. Orson was a business owner. He bought mice from somewhere, which meant there were records of the transactions, and if the next furry threat to turn up on my windshield was one of his, he was going down.
I toweled off my hair and started the blow dryer. Time to concoct a plan to make myself easy to follow. First, I’d be more predictable. Use the same routes to the Faire and back. Keep a schedule. Maybe revisit the scenes of previous mouse deliveries.
My phone lit with a voice mail. I stopped the dryer and checked the message.
Jake’s voice crackled across the line. Wind buried a few of his words, but I got the gist. He wanted me to know he got my message last night, and he’d have Dante’s backseat thoroughly processed for evidence of someone hiding back there.
Trading calls had become our thing. Basically, I got more face time with stray community cats than my boyfriend, if that’s what he was to me. Semantics were a pain in the ass. I would’ve toiled over the right word longer, if it wasn’t dead last on my list of unsolved puzzles.
I swept my hair into a messy pony and dialed Jake’s cell. While it rang, I planned my message for him and gathered my laptop bag, purse and keys. I lost the call in the elevator and redialed in the lobby. I grimaced at my reflection in the glass as I headed into the day. I needed stronger coffee than I kept in my apartment. As was evidenced by my outfit. Blue sleeveless swing dress with yellow polka dots and matching skinny belt. My patent-leather peep-toes were cute, but that was where it ended. No accessories. Not even a headscarf or earrings. It was probably a minor miracle I’d remembered shoes.
“Archer.” Jake’s deep tenor pulsed through the line.
“Hey.” I stopped to collect myself. What was I supposed to say when he actually answered the phone?
“I just left you a voice mail.”
I headed for Dream Bean. “I was in the shower.”
“You had a good idea last night.” His voice gave my heart a much-needed pick-me-up. “If we find a single thread, it could break the case, and if there’s anything to find, we’ll find it. Unless he wrapped himself in plastic wrap and shaved his body, we’ll get him.”
“If he was really in the backseat.” It was only a theory, and I was known to be wrong.
“We’ll get him. I promise.”
I looked both ways and crossed at the double white lines. A pair of women on Segways slowed for a gaggle of geese. I steered clear of both. Not every Segway owner knew how to keep them upright, and the geese liked to chase me.
Jake’s truck’s engine roared through the phone. “I’m out for the morning. Following a lead. Are you available for lunch?”
A woman in a Kent State Black Squirrel Festival shirt darted into Dream Bean.
I cringed. “No. I’ve got to help Marcella and Fifi with a community meeting about squirrels.”
He blew out a sigh. “Are you blowing me off, or are our schedules really this incompatible?”
I tugged the door open at Dream Bean and nearly collapsed. If Heaven had a smell, it was this. Soft scents of spun sugar and fresh-baked treats mixed with French vanilla and caramel coffees. The shop was wall-to-wall with resident-protesters. Fifi’s flyers had done the trick. Everyone was geared up to make their stand. A few carried stuffed squirrels. Most wore variations of Save Our Wildlife apparel. Others were dressed in full hunting camo. Not good. I took a seat near the door and calculated the distance for an escape. If a brouhaha erupted, I’d get out first and call for help second. I still had phantom pains in one elbow from the summer’s butter battle.
“Mia?”
“Sorry.” What did he ask? Oh, right, the squirrels. “I put in community Wi-Fi and it tanked.”
“Did you do a mesh network?”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Yeah, but the squirrels ate it.”
Darlene hustled between customers, delivering coffee cups and white pastry bags, a look of panic on her brow. Luckily, the residents weren’t arguing. In fact, the utter silence was worse. It was like anything could happen at any moment. Despite the soft shuffle of clothing and shoes, I could hear myself breathing.
“Are you okay? Why are you whispering?”
I shook my head. What could I say? “The community’s in upheaval. The usual.”
“So no lunch.”
“Right.” I shifted in my seat, hyper-aware of prying eyes and listening ears. “How about dinner? I’m visiting a shower venue with Bree before the Faire, but if you can stop by the orchard, maybe I’ll treat you to a pint of ale and a proper dumpling.”
“Can’t. I’ve got a family thing.”
“Okay.” I tugged my bottom lip between my thumb and first finger. A flurry of little white mice ran through my mind.
He cleared his throat. “Is there something on your mind? Anything you want to talk about?”
I’d hoped to tell him in person, but apparently, that wasn’t in the cards. Stupid Universe. “Someone put drowned mice on my car. Twice. Well, three times, if I count the first one, but that was in a field where mice belong.”
“Start over.”
“The first dead mouse was beside my car
in the field outside the Faire. The second time was at the bakery. One mouse in the gravel. The third time, there were a couple mice on my windshield.”
“Drowned mice?”
“Yeah. I think they’re supposed to represent Dante. He drowned.”
“I recall. Any idea who left the mice?”
Yes. The only man I knew with a big wall full of them and reasonable reason to have them. “Maybe. Dante met with a man named Keith Orson several times before he died.”
“I’m aware.”
“I went to see him. He owns a pet store. Not a friendly guy.”
Jake groaned. “You promised to stop looking into this.”
“I promised to try. Besides, the pet store is a public place. I might be a regular shopper there. Maybe my visit was completely ordinary.”
“Had you ever been to Fins, Feathers and Fur before?”
“No.” I drew a circle on the shiny white tabletop with my fingertip.
“Okay, first of all, I need you to stay out of this investigation before you get yourself attacked. Again. I will put you under house arrest if necessary.”
My finger froze on the table. “You wouldn’t.”
“Would.”
“For what cause?”
“Assurance of personal safety.”
I gasped. “That’s not a thing.”
“Arrest me.” He snorted at his unfunny joke. “Seriously, though. I think the drowning angle sounds more and more like Terrance Horton. I wasn’t convinced at first, but the mice are his speed. He’s a white-collar criminal with a flair for the dramatic. Drowning mice is dramatic. It won’t be long before we wrap this case, so can you please leave it alone?”
“After I check on the mice. I can trace them to the warehouse where they were purchased and check the invoices to see if Orson bought them. I don’t have to see him again for that. No one will know I’m looking.” Of course, I needed to wait for another mouse to be delivered since I’d consistently left the evidence behind.
Silence stretched for several long beats. I checked the phone to see if I’d dropped the call.
“Fine,” he finally grouched, “but look into it from home. No more inquisitions.”
“Fine. Did you say you know where Terrance Horton is now?”
“My team’s closing in on him. We scooped up a known accomplice last night. I’ll ask if he knows anything about Horton and mice.”
It sounded like a long shot to me. “Orson owns a pet store with tons of mice.”
“Orson’s on my list too. I saw the same files you did, Connors.” His engine quieted and a car door slammed. He’d arrived at his destination. “I’m glad you told me about the mice.”
“Okay.”
We disconnected with an awkward goodbye. Phone calls were the worst.
I waded through protesters toward the coffee counter, doubly in need of a boost after our draining discussion. “Hi, Darlene.”
Her brown eyes widened at the sound of my voice. She scanned the area and dropped her gaze on me with relief. “Mia.” She wrung her hands into a dish towel and headed my way. “I almost didn’t see you.”
Whispering began behind me at the sound of my name.
“Short girl problems.” I shrugged. If anyone understood it was her.
“Preaching to the choir. What can I get you?” She leaned across the counter and grabbed my hand, slowly mouthing the words you have to fix this before letting go.
I swallowed hard. “Iced raspberry mocha latte, triple shot of espresso, please.”
The whispers grew into a murmur. I swiveled in the confined space and pressed my back to the counter to examine the faces around me. No one smiled.
She worked quickly behind the counter, jostling containers and mixing her potions. She claimed there was no magic, just quality ingredients and love. I didn’t see how that was possible. I’d tried to recreate my favorite Dream Bean drinks multiple times. I’d failed magnificently.
“Iced raspberry mocha latte.” Darlene’s voice cut through the rumble of disgruntled voices. “Heavy on the caffeine.”
I angled toward her and dropped money on the counter. “Thanks. See you at the meeting?”
“I’m bringing the coffee.”
I gripped the large plastic cup with both hands and gave the crowd a parting glance. “Bring decaf.”
Tension rolled away as I put distance between myself and the coffee shop. Fifi might have overestimated the level of community around here.
I swept through the clubhouse double doors with a jaunt in my step. The most delicious coffee on earth was kicking in.
Marcella paced the lobby with a scary clown smile. “There you are.”
I checked my watch. “I’m early.”
She crossed the distance to my side. The click clack of heels reverberated off wide marble floors.
“Are you okay?” Close up, the smile bordered on lunacy.
“I didn’t sleep. I baked all night in preparation for this meeting. My phone buzzed incessantly with resident confirmations. We had to move everything to the big room.”
Wow. The big room was saved for conferences and an occasional guest speaker. Sometimes penny-pinching residents held office holiday parties there, but it was mostly used for storage and novice employee hanky-panky. No one went in there. “How many people are coming?”
“Two hundred.”
“How many?” I’d misunderstood. Obviously. “I thought you said two hundred.”
“Ay.” She grabbed my arm and hauled me down the employee hall toward the big room. “Two hundred, gorda.” Her grip tightened. Her stage whisper bit into the air.
We stopped outside a set of double doors, and she released me. The doors were propped open and adorned with huge Welcome signs. Helium balloons floated at half-mast on both sides in shades of brown and green. Paper squirrels were taped to the walls inside.
Fifi circled through the rows of seating, dropping leaflets on each chair. “Come in!”
Marcella entered first. “I made comfort foods. Brownies. Pound cakes. Flan.”
I followed her to the nearest row of seats.
Lunch tables lined the far wall, covered in cloth and weighted with sweets.
Fifi fanned her face with the pamphlets. “I ordered finger sandwiches from the clubhouse restaurant. They’re being delivered about twenty minutes before the meeting. What do you think?” She opened her arms like a game show hostess.
“I think you’ve both worked very hard.” I wasn’t great at lying, and though she motioned to the room, she meant how do you think the meeting will go? It would probably go poorly. Ask any member of the silent mob buying coffee.
“Guess what?” Fifi moved to my side and rocked on her heels. “I loved the empty apartment beside yours. I think it’s fantastic, and I’m going to buy it. There’s an unbelievable amount of square footage for the price. And those windows.” She hung her mouth open.
“When did they finish it?” I hadn’t heard any construction work since I’d moved in last summer and the condo mirroring mine was a big empty rectangle then. I’d liked the view from there better, but my penthouse had been move-in ready and the other was all drop cloths and drywall dust.
“It’s still unfinished, but I’m having a ton of fun making design decisions. I’ve got an appointment to look at cabinets and faucets after work.”
“Faucets.”
“Mmm-hmm. There are at least a hundred decent choices. I’m putting off the floorplans. It’s hard to know how big my closet should be. I don’t want to cut into the space for my shower, but I don’t want to part with any shoes either. You know what I mean?”
I slid one eye closed and rubbed the corresponding temple with my fingertips. “Absolutely. Well, it looks like you two have this under co
ntrol, so I’m going to let you finish while I prepare some speaking points for the meeting.”
I navigated the corridors back to my office, sucking the dregs of my latte as I went. Thirty minutes later, I pressed the order button for some recommended motion sensor toys. Multiple wildlife-loving websites said the toys would keep animals at bay. The toys worked like robotic scarecrows. If anything came in view of the sensor, the toy would light up and move around or make a sound. Animals would flee. My network would live.
I had a sneaking feeling residents who treasured the peaceful ambience of Horseshoe Falls would hate the idea, but I ordered a boatload of rechargeable batteries anyway. I planned to position the toys as sentinels inside the boathouse attic and use them sparingly outside the insulated confines. Keeping the peace was worth a little robotic intervention.
Next, I hit up a baby couture website and ordered two hundred white onesies and a bunch of gender-neutral sleepers and itty-bitty socks. I planned a shower craft for the onesies and a clothesline of rainbow-colored clothing as a decoration over the gift table. All items would hang in twos of course, and each with a different featured animal, two green froggy sleepers, two white bunny hats, two yellow bunny sunsuits, etc. I paid for the express delivery and said my daily prayer of gratitude for technology. If this was the nineteen hundreds, I would have had to drive all over Ohio looking for all this junk, and I’d have had to quit my jobs to do it.
I turned an ear toward the office window. Voices carried through the glass. One at first, then more.
I used my feet like Wilma Flintstone to propel my office chair across the room. I tugged the blinds up. A mob spread through the clubhouse lot. Save the Squirrels signs bobbed over their heads as they marched toward the building, amped up on coffee and ready to be heard.
Marcella appeared in the lot several moments later, smiling that demented smile and handing out cookies.
Behind them all, a taxi cab filed into the community and headed toward the stables.
Taxi cabs. A hazy idea percolated. I dialed Bernie at the gate.
A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries) Page 15